Chapter Four

“I think you should tell the fool to make up his mind,” Grace said. “From what I overheard yesterday, the man loves you but is too great a coward to admit it to himself.”

Fortuity clasped her gloved hands tighter inside her fur muff and shivered as the Broadmere carriage drew ever closer to Ravenglass Townhouse on Chesterfield Street. It was a damp, bone-chilling day, and the task at hand only made her colder. “I think you should remember that eavesdropping is most rude.”

“Do not be a hypocrite, sister. I have seen you lean in close to take in conversations you were not a part of.”

“We should turn around and go back home.”

“We should not.” Grace wagged a finger at her. “The more he is around you, the more he will realize his life is incomplete without you at his side.”

“Since when do you know so much about love? I thought your only interest was your puppies.”

Her sister pursed her mouth into a tight pucker and looked aside.

Fortuity smiled, thrilled that she’d discovered a secret about Grace, the sister no one ever got one over on. “You are in love. Who is he?”

“I am not in love.” Grace huffed and glared upward, as if sending up a prayer for divine guidance. “If you must know, I have read your stories, and your current difficulties leave me to wonder how you could ever write such romantic tales when you can’t seem to get it right in real life.”

“My characters do as I bid them. Unfortunately, no real persons seem inclined to grant me such courtesies.”

Grace eyed her. “I can see how that would be true. Even so, I do not think today a mistake. Make the most of it.” She nodded at the bundle on the seat beside Fortuity. “Did you bring them all?”

“Almost all. I left the unfinished works in my hideaway—which I apparently must relocate, since you know where it is.” Fortuity pulled aside the window covering and peeked outside. “Oh my. We are here. I thought the carriage was slowing.”

“Calm down.” Grace scooted forward as the vehicle rolled to a stop. “Make the man realize he wishes to marry you, so I will not be forced to shake him.”

If only it were that easy, Fortuity thought, but didn’t dare voice her insecurities. Grace was by far the strongest willed of them all. Nothing shook her. At times, she even outwitted Serendipity. “Thank you for coming with me today. Seri can be unbearable at times since she decided to help Chance find us husbands.”

“You are welcome,” Grace said with surprising gentleness. “After yesterday, I feel somewhat invested in your future and mean to see it through to a successful outcome.”

The carriage door swung open, and their footman, George, stuck his head inside before folding down the steps and helping them out. “Mind the walkway, Lady Fortuity and Lady Grace. Not yet icy, but soon will be.”

“Thank you, George.” Fortuity scooped her bundle of stories into the crook of her arm and tried not to lose her muff in the process.

“Might I carry your package for you, my lady?” The trusted young man eyed her with worry as she teetered in the doorway, attempting to balance the bundle, her fluffy handwarmer, and her reticule while disembarking without snagging her cloak or gown somewhere in the process.

She handed it over, then accepted his help in stepping down. “My goodness, George, you were quite right about the slippery way of things.” She cast a glance back. “Mind your steps, Gracie. The stonework is quite treacherous.” A glance upward at the heaviness of the dreary gray clouds made her wonder if the weather was an ill omen. The chilling drizzle came down harder. “Perhaps we should go home.”

“We are staying,” Grace said. “However, does Ravenglass have shelter for our people and horses? I refuse to make them sit out in this weather while we are warm beside a fire.”

“If there is no shelter for our team, nor a good, hot drink for our servants, we shan’t be staying.” At least they agreed on that count. Fortuity carefully picked her way to the front door and banged the heavy metal knocker shaped like a raven.

The same butler she had met during last year’s visit opened the door. “Good day, Lady Fortuity. Lord Ravenglass is expecting you.”

“Thebson, isn’t it?” At least, she thought that was the man’s name, recalling it because it was so unusual.

The man bowed. “Yes, my lady.”

“Before my sister and I may enter and visit in good conscience, we must know that our servants and team shan’t be left out in this horrid weather. Is there room in Lord Ravenglass’s stables for our animals and a bracing cup of tea for our people?”

“Tell her yes , Thebson,” came a familiar voice from deeper within the house. “Have Thomas and Mr. Turnmaster see to the lady’s request.”

“Yes, my lord.” The butler disappeared before ushering Fortuity and Grace inside.

“Bloody fool.” Matthew hurried to help them enter and accepted the bundle containing Fortuity’s stories from her footman. “Thebson has never been able to manage more than one task at a time, and, as you can well see, his prioritizing of duties leaves much to be desired.” He turned back to the open doorway and addressed the Broadmere servants. “To the back of the townhouse is the mews. Mr. Turnmaster is my head groom and will see to the team. Thomas will bring you both into the kitchen for tea and food.”

George bowed. “Thank you kindly, my lord.”

The coachman tipped his hat. “Thank you kindly, indeed, my lord.”

After shutting the door to the gusty, wet weather, Matthew bellowed, “Mrs. Greer?”

Fortuity jumped and squeaked, “What on earth, Matthew?”

“Forgive me for startling you, my lady.” He gave her a curt bow, then glared down the hallway. “Brace yourselves,” he warned, then roared even louder. “Mrs. Greer!”

“Aye, my lord! I be a-comin’!” An ancient matron of considerable girth careened into view from around the corner. Her round face plumped with her ever-widening smile. “Be that yourself, Lady Fortuity? And you as well, Lady Grace? ’Pon my soul, ’tis good to see you both again.”

A comforting rush of happiness washed across Fortuity. She and the housekeeper had formed a bittersweet friendship during the time the dear old woman had helped the Broadmeres care for their dying mother. Fortuity rushed forward and hugged the grandmotherly angel who had concocted numerous poultices and tonics that had brought Mama the only relief to be found during her final days. “It is so good to see you, Mrs. Greer. I hope I didn’t lead you into a poor place of employment when I recommended you to Lord Ravenglass?” She turned and fixed him with a hard glare. “How dare you bellow for Mrs. Greer? Have you never heard of a bell?”

“Mrs. Greer told me to shout for her because Mary Louise dismantled the bell system for a good greasing.” Matthew glared right back at her. “You know very well that I treat my servants like people and not property.”

Fortuity arched a brow and turned back to the housekeeper. “What say you, Mrs. Greer?”

The matron chortled and clapped her beefy hands together. “I am quite happy here, Lady Fortuity, and I thank you for making it come about.” She chortled again, much like a contented hen settling into the nest. “Although this house could use a fine mistress to see to the running of it.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Greer,” Matthew said. “Tea in the parlor, please. And also, please let Mrs. Sykesbury know our guests have arrived.”

Her eyes bright and twinkling, Mrs. Greer nodded, then gave Fortuity a wink. “Aye, my lord. Right away.”

“Since Thebson has yet to reappear and tend to his duties, allow me to help you with your cloaks, ladies.” Matthew gave Grace a strained smile as he accepted her outerwear and hat. “My word, how long did he keep the two of you standing on the step? This cloak is quite wet.”

“It’s not entirely Thebson’s fault,” Grace said. “Tutie kept trying to turn tail and run.” She aimed a smug look at Fortuity. “I had to convince her to stay.”

With Grace’s damp things draped over his arm, Matthew slowly turned to Fortuity with a look she could only describe as hurt. “Is that true?”

Fortuity squared her shoulders. “I was merely concerned about leaving our people and horses exposed to the dreadful weather.” She shot Grace a warning glare. They would discuss her traitorous behavior later.

Matthew piled Grace’s things on the entryway bench and moved to help Fortuity with hers. “Are you being truthful?” he asked so quietly she almost didn’t hear him.

She flipped her cloak off so quickly that he almost dropped it. “I do hope my stories haven’t drawn damp. Where are they, so I might check them?”

Before he answered, a thunderous pounding rumbled down the stairs. A snorting, barking fury of tawniness sped past her, slowing long enough to latch on to her fur muff, snatch it from her hand, and charge down the hallway with it.

“Come back here, you!” Fortuity gave chase while Grace shrieked with laughter.

“Ignatius!” Matthew roared. “Halt. Sit.”

The thieving pug skidded to a stop and plopped down on his plump behind, black face wrinkling with pride as he woofed around the mouthful of Fortuity’s furry handwarmer.

“Oh dear. Ignatius,” Mrs. Sykesbury called out from the base of the stairwell. “Bad, bad puppy. Shame on you.”

Fortuity moved to recover her stolen goods, and the teasing little dog skittered back, staying just out of reach. His bulging brown eyes lent such a comical look to his joyful expression that she couldn’t help but laugh. “Give it back, you little terror, or I shall be forced to set Gracie on you. She knows how to handle naughty puppies.”

“Ignatius.” Matthew pointed at the floor. “Drop it. Now.”

The dog shook with another muffled woof, revealing his reluctance to obey.

“Drop it,” commanded Matthew in a sterner tone. “Now.”

The muff hit the floor, and Fortuity almost swore she heard the little animal give a disgruntled snort. She hurried to recover the even damper hand warmer. “Thank you, Ignatius.”

The playful scamp wiggled his curly little tail and smiled.

Gracie rushed forward, dropped to her knees, and patted her hands together. “Come see me, you handsome boy. Thanks to you, this visit might just be bearable.”

“Thank you, Lady Grace,” Matthew said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“You are quite welcome.” Grace scooped the dog up into her arms and glanced up the hallway. “Which way to the parlor?”

Matthew nodded at the second set of double doors, then narrowed his eyes at the butler hurrying toward them. “The ladies’ outer garments are wet with rain, Thebson. See that Mary Louise tends to them, and moving forward, you will clarify which task I wish you to attend to first, since you appear unable to sort that out for yourself.”

The butler tucked his chin, seeming to wilt before them. “Yes, my lord. I do beg your pardon for mishandling my duties.”

“Don’t be cross with him,” Fortuity whispered. “He’s older and probably cannot help it. Like our Walters at Broadmere.”

With his jaw clenched, Matthew stared down at her a moment longer than necessary.

Please? she mouthed.

He bowed his head, then turned back to the butler and spoke in a kinder tone. “Thank you, Thebson. That will be all for now. As I said, please see that the ladies’ garments are properly dried and brushed.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Thank you,” Fortuity said quietly to Matthew. “Perhaps one of your footmen could help Thebson keep things sorted. Make the footman a butler in training to save Thebson’s pride.”

“The man left you standing in the cold rain, and you wish to help him?”

“He didn’t do it maliciously.”

“No. He did not.” He frowned at her, as if unable to define what sort of creature she was. “But most ladies do not appreciate a good soaking with icy rain.”

“Well, I don’t either. However, what’s done is done, and there is no reason to be petty about it. As I said, he did not do it maliciously.” She angled her way past him and smiled at Mrs. Sykesbury. “We didn’t get to speak the night of the masquerade ball. Your dress was so lovely.”

Mrs. Sykesbury gave a graceful curtsy. “Thank you, Lady Fortuity. You are too kind.” She moved closer, wringing her hands. “And please forgive Ignatius for his rudeness. He has not been with me long, and we are still working on his manners.”

Fortuity waved away the apology. “Do not apologize. I am quite used to rambunctious puppies. Gracie has several who have the run of the townhouse.”

The older woman tucked her chin and tipped her head, appearing as shy and retiring as a wallflower nearing spinsterhood. “Again, you are most kind. Excuse me while I ensure Mrs. Greer has a proper tea in the making.”

Fortuity watched her go, her heart aching for the poor woman whose world had fallen apart when her husband died. “I wish I could help her,” she said more to herself than Matthew.

“Agnus is better than she was, which I suppose is something.”

Unable to resist, Fortuity eyed the staircase. “And will Eleanor be joining us?”

“Eleanor will not be joining us. She is spending the day in her rooms.” Matthew went to the side table beside the entryway bench and picked up the bundle wrapped in a dark cloth and secured with a matching ribbon. Staring down at the package as if it were as rare and precious as smuggled jewels, he gently rested his hand on top of it. “Thank you for entrusting me with your stories.”

“I am not leaving them here.” He needed to understand that. “Gracie and I shall stay while you read, and when we leave, my stories leave with me.”

He frowned at her—but not really a frown, more of a pained expression, a realization that perhaps they were no longer the close friends they once were. “You do not trust me.”

“I trust no one with my stories.”

“Then how do you hope to ever get them published? Publishers will need time to review them before deciding whether they wish to print them.”

She hadn’t thought of that, but it didn’t matter. That still didn’t mean she would leave them unguarded with Matthew.

Maybe he was right. She no longer trusted him. Not since the masquerade ball and then his cousin’s manipulation of the outing that never happened. “I brought them here for you to read and provide an opinion. I will decide on my course of action once I hear your recommendations. Until that time, they shall remain in my possession.”

“Will things ever be right again between us, Fortuity?” he asked softly.

“Of course,” she lied with her best fake smile. “After all, we are friends. Are we not?”

*

Even though the prose of Fortuity’s story was compelling and entertaining, try as he might, Matthew could not concentrate on it. Instead, he repeatedly found himself watching her as she and Grace played with the impertinent Ignatius by tossing the dog’s favorite bit of knotted rope.

It wasn’t just her beauty or the way she laughed that drew his focus back to her again and again. It was something he couldn’t define, an impossible-to-ignore magnetism, as if she were a rare vintage wine and he was dying of thirst. How was it that every eligible male of the ton wasn’t beating down her door, begging for her hand in marriage?

“Well?” she asked as she rose, returned to the center table laden with the offerings of a proper tea, and poured them all another cup. “How far have you gotten?”

He stared down at her flowery script and couldn’t recall a single detail of anything he had read. A skimming of the last few sentences revealed it was some sort of garden scene where the hero was attempting to charm his lady love. “Uhm… How could she be in the garden without a chaperone? Does he ruin her?”

Fortuity stared at him as if he’d sprouted a unicorn horn in the middle of his forehead. “Her maid is right there cutting flowers. How did you miss that?”

He blinked and lifted the page higher, hiding behind it like a schoolboy caught short in his studies. What the devil was wrong with him? He had promised to do this to repair their friendship, hadn’t he? He cleared his throat and resettled himself in his chair. “Ah… Yes. Right here. How could I have missed that? Forgive me.”

She perched on the edge of the chair next to him, still frowning. “The garden scene is the opening of the first chapter. Do you mean to tell me you haven’t gotten past the first page?”

“I need quiet in which to read and reflect properly. How am I supposed to concentrate with all the noise?” He tipped a jerking nod at the pug where it sat in Grace’s lap, crunching on a biscuit.

“He eats no louder than you do,” Grace said. “Do not blame the dog for your own shortcomings.”

“My shortcomings?” He opened his mouth to say more, then thought better of it. It would not be wise to give Fortuity’s younger sister a curt answer. One never knew how Lady Grace might respond, and he didn’t wish to upset Fortuity more than he already had.

“Gracie.” Fortuity gave her sister a stern frown, then turned back to him and narrowed her eyes. “Please forgive her. Gracie is protective when animals are unjustly blamed.”

“Unjustly blamed?”

“Yes. Unjustly blamed.” She rose and snatched the papers out of his hands. “If you find my stories boring and impossible to immerse yourself in, simply say so. Do not blame the dog for being noisy.”

“If you must know, you were the distraction.” Damn and blast. He had not meant to say that.

“I was the distraction?” She arched a brow, clearly not believing him. “Do go on, my lord. Explain how I distract you.”

He held out his hand. “Give them back so I may finish reading.”

“From the sound of it, you haven’t even started.”

“Then give them back so I may start.”

“No.”

“No?”

“Yes, my lord. The answer is no , which means you do not get your way.” She straightened the pages and returned them to the bundle on the table. The alarming rosiness of her cheeks warned she was furious or about to burst into tears—or both.

“Fortuity.”

“Do not say my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you have the right to say my name like that, because you do not.”

“Come, Ignatius,” Grace said as she hefted the wriggling dog up into her arms. “Let us stroll the halls and find the perfect place for you to lift your leg.”

“Gracie!” Fortuity stared at her sister in open-mouthed dismay as Grace marched out of the parlor but left the double doors open behind her. After a barely audible groan, Fortuity slowly shook her head. “I do beg your pardon, Matthew. Gracie can sometimes be—”

“Shocking?”

She nodded. “Yes. I fear we have used that word more than once when describing her. Again, I apologize.” She pressed her hands to her still-rosy cheeks. “We should not have come here today. It is too much to ask of anyone, of a friend.”

His heart ached for her. Why was it that the harder he tried to repair the fracture between them, the worse it became? “I offered to read your stories, my lady. Forgive me for not forcing myself to concentrate.”

“You see?” She jabbed a finger at him. “That is just it, isn’t it? You should not have to force yourself to concentrate. A good story pulls you in and refuses to let you go until the last page.”

The way the fullness of her bottom lip quivered made him yearn to pull her into his arms and kiss her until they both became senseless.

He blinked away the thought. No. They were friends. Friends did not kiss unless it was on the cheek in greeting or farewell. He raked a hand through his hair and looked away. “Forgive me, Fortuity. I do not know what has gotten into me. I have a great deal on my mind.”

She immediately calmed, and sympathy shone in the stormy blue depths of her eyes. “Eleanor?”

“Yes. Eleanor.” It wasn’t a complete lie, but he damn well couldn’t tell her she had become a distraction he was powerless to ignore. “I fear the ungrateful chit is headed for certain ruin and determined to take me with her.”

“You don’t believe she would trap you in a marriage of convenience, do you?”

“I believe she would if I were her only remaining option.” He sipped his tea and wished it were something much stronger. “Your brother is her current target. Warn him to take the greatest care.”

“I shall warn him.” She returned to her chair and thoughtfully stirred her tea. “What will happen to Mrs. Sykesbury when Eleanor successfully snares a husband? While she seems to love her daughter very much, Eleanor sometimes seems as though she forgets she even has a mother.”

“Agnus is welcome to stay here as long as she wishes.” A happy woof from the hallway made him roll his eyes. “Her and that infernal dog, who in a moment of weakness I bought for her, thinking it might help her overcome her extended grief.”

Fortuity gave him a wistful smile that hit him as so sad it squeezed his heart. “You are a kind man, Matthew, even though you do not wish anyone else to realize it.”

There was so much he wanted to say to her but couldn’t. Admittedly, he was a coward, but he feared losing a cherished friendship by making the mistake of trying to turn it into something more. In his experience, love never lasted. His parents had gone to their graves hating one another, and when he’d risked opening his heart, it had won him the humiliation of standing at the altar, waiting for a bride who had run off to Gretna Green with a duke.

He snorted and waved away her compliment. “Do not tell anyone I am nice, I beg you. My reputation would be ruined.”

Mrs. Sykesbury swept into the room, wringing her hands as she always did. “Forgive me. I didn’t realize Lady Grace had taken Ignatius for a walk and left you unaccompanied.”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Fortuity said. “The doors remained wide open, and as you can see, I am in my chair enjoying my tea and Matthew is in his.”

The perpetually nervous woman flittered over to the settee and perched on the edge of the cushion, looking on with the misery of one waiting to march to the gallows.

Matthew stifled a groan and turned back to Fortuity. “May I please read your story now? I promise to do better.” With poor Agnus souring the room, he should be able to concentrate. “Please?”

Fortuity stared at him with a critical glare, then rose and picked up the pages she had tucked back into the bundle. “I shall grant you one more hour. No more.” She handed them over. “Gracie and I do not wish to overstay our welcome.”

He gratefully accepted the pages and settled deeper into his chair. “I daresay Ignatius shall be distraught once you leave.”

“He is enjoying himself with Lady Grace,” Mrs. Sykesbury said as she picked up her needlework and held it for Fortuity to inspect. “Do you enjoy embroidery, Lady Fortuity?”

“I am afraid I have no talent for it,” Fortuity said. “Yours is quite lovely, though. I particularly like that shade of green you selected for the sprigs.”

Matthew easily immersed himself in Fortuity’s story this time. With such riveting conversation in the room, he was grateful for the escape. It never ceased to amaze him how Agnus could chat for hours about absolutely nothing. He noted Fortuity displayed the patience of Job as his cousin droned on and on about her needlework. Heaven help them all.

He forced himself to concentrate, finding the flowery script and turn of phrase pleasing and easy to read. Fortuity’s personality shone in the prose. Whenever her heroine laughed or spoke, it was Fortuity’s voice and mannerisms. It was Fortuity he pictured in every scene. He found himself smiling and perfectly content to stay inside the romantic tale for however long as he was allowed. The more he read, the more the hero infuriated him. One did not treat a lady with such casual disregard. Did the fool not see that the lady loved him?

When he reached the final page, the interruption in the tale jarred him. “I need the rest, Fortuity.”

She shook her head and took the papers from him. “I am sorry, my lord, but it is time for Gracie and me to go. What did you think of the portion I gave you?”

He stared at her, frustrated beyond belief that she was actually going to leave and take the rest of the book with her. “Quite compelling. But some of your scenes are inaccurate.”

“Inaccurate?” She arched a brow, daring him to continue.

Her scenes weren’t inaccurate, but instinctively, he felt if he didn’t stir her ire, they might not enjoy another visit like today’s. “Yes. Inaccurate. For instance, the way the hero treats his lady love. I find it hard to believe she would remain in love with him when he behaves like such a churl.”

“It is known as growth , my lord. No character is perfect, and neither are relationships. They must get to know one another, work through each other’s faults, and grow. ”

He delighted at the irritation in her tone. If he nurtured it just enough, she might agree to another visit, so they could work through her stories. This afternoon had been most enjoyable even with its few bumps along the way. She brought a brightness to his home that wasn’t there before. He hungered for more. “I agree that some growth is expected, but do you not believe a proper kiss should have happened between them by now? They dance around each other somewhat, but he is barely pursuing her.”

“Maybe he is extraordinarily dull-witted and wouldn’t know a fine opportunity if it bit him on the end of his nose. And they are not even engaged yet, so there should not be a kiss.” She tucked the pages into the bundle, refolded the cloth around them, and secured the ribbons with a hard jerk. “Besides, they experience a stolen kiss in chapter three.”

“Let me read it.”

“No. I told you it was time for Gracie and me to go.”

“Let me read the kiss first.”

“Why? So you can tell me I wrote that wrong as well?”

“Have you ever been kissed, my lady?”

Agnus gasped from her perch on the settee. “My lord, that is not an appropriate question to ask a young lady.”

“Purely professional, Agnus. If Lady Fortuity has never been kissed, how can she properly describe a passionate embrace?”

“I have observed such behavior at parties when couples sneak off to the gardens,” Fortuity said with a low growl. “I assure you, my description is quite detailed. One does not have to experience everything one writes about. In chapter seven, the hero is shot, and I have never experienced that. All I needed to draw upon was my brother-in-law’s experience to achieve the vividness required.”

He feigned a disinterested shrug. “Well… There are other inaccuracies as well, but since you feel you must leave, we shan’t discuss them now. But the story is well written and shows promise. I feel sure publishers would love it—once we revise and edit a few things.”

“Edit a few things?” she said through gritted teeth.

With a smile that he knew would irritate her even more, he pushed himself up from his chair. “Only minor things, my lady. But since you feel you must leave, we’ve no time to discuss them now.”

“Gracie!” she called out while narrowing her eyes at him. “Make haste. It is time for us to go.”

Grace appeared in the doorway with Ignatius at her side. She eyed Fortuity, then shifted her gaze to him. “What did you say to her?”

“I merely advised her that her stories bear a few inaccuracies that some slight revisions would easily remedy.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I advise you to have your man fetch our things, because I can assure you my sister is most definitely ready to remove herself from your presence.”

He turned to Fortuity, praying he hadn’t foiled his plan for another pleasant afternoon in the lady’s company. But then again, should he distance himself from her? No, he couldn’t—or wouldn’t. Gads, what the devil was wrong with him? What had the woman done to him? “You wished for an opinion, my lady. You know I mean no ill will, and I do feel the publishers will love your story.”

“Our things, my lord, so that we might go.” She hugged her bundle of stories as if it were a babe. “Posthaste, if you please. This visit is over.”

“But there will be another visit, so I might review the rest of the tale?” She had to agree. He couldn’t bear it if she refused.

She glared at him and hugged the bundle tighter.

“Please, Fortuity?” he whispered. “I shall do better and not be such an arse. I promise.”

“I shall think on it,” she said, her voice cracking just enough to give him hope. “Good day, Lord Ravenglass.” She charged past Grace into the hallway.

Grace pointed at him as if sighting a pistol. “Stop hurting my sister.”

“I do not mean to,” he said, the confession catching in his throat.

With a loud snort of disbelief, she shook her head and left the room.

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