Page 3 of From Rakes to Riches

“And you?” Guy asked. “I have costumed myself as one of those many extra gentlemen one sees wandering about the stage in a Shakespearean play, though one is not certain why they are there. But I do not recognize your character. Not Tatiana? I’ve seen a dozen or so of those downstairs.” Mrs. Cooke’s gown, while sumptuous, was evening finery, not fancy dress.

“Matron Chaperone.” Her smile grew while a fondness entered her eyes. “I am escorting my stepdaughter this evening.”

“And Wakefield chased you away from her?” Guy recalled how Wakefield had suggested ruining debutantes for amusement. He doubted Wakefield would actually attempt such a thing, because the man was a born coward, but if he found a fresh young thing milling about by herself … “You left your charge alone?” he finished with more alarm.

“No, no,” Gemma said quickly. “Her great-aunt is looking after her.Sheis the true chaperone. I wanted to come, for Sonia’s sake.”

Sonia, if Guy remembered aright, was the daughter of Mrs. Cooke’s second husband. Mrs. Cooke and her stepdaughter were fairly close in years, as the forty-year-old Sir John Broadbent had taken his second wife, Gemma, when Gemma was only twenty summers.

“I do hope young Sonia’s great-aunty is redoubtable,” he remarked.

The smile returned, and Guy wondered if Gemma realized it made her incredibly beautiful.

“Aunt Margot is as redoubtable as they come. No gentleman without her absolute approval will go near Sonia.”

“Well, that is a relief.” Guy imagined a stout matron beating off Wakefield with her cane. A delightful image.

Gemma’s glance at the door told Guy she was ready to depart, the conversation finished. She’d thank him again and return to her stepdaughter, gliding out of Guy’s existence forever. Something burned in his chest.

“Thimbles?” he asked quickly.

Gemma blinked. “Pardon?”

“When you burst in here and saw me, you said:Oh, thimbles. Or perhaps you were lisping and meantcymbals. Either way, a strange thing to say upon spying a chap.”

A flush touched Gemma’s cheeks. “Ladies are forbidden from cursing, are they not?”

Guy had met plenty of women, particularly ones from the era of this redoubtable great-aunt Gemma mentioned, who could curse like sailors when they wished, but true, young ladies of Gemma’s world were discouraged from it.

“They are indeed.” Guy wanted to be agreeable.

“But sometimes, a strong word is needed. I save up ones to use when I am particularly agitated, so I will not be censured. I must be careful of my behavior because Sonia might be harmed by it.”

“I see. Andthimblesis what you say when agitated?”

“Sometimes. Orchrysanthemums.Pertinacity. Girandole. That’s a sort of candelabra.”

Guy began to grin. “How aboutfutchell?”

Interest flickered on her face. “That does sound like a curse. What does it mean?”

“It’s a piece of a carriage. Makes a socket to hold the pole.” Guy started to hold up his fingers to demonstrate then shrugged. “I’d have to point it out.”

“I shall consider it.” Gemma balled one fist. “Oh,futchells.Yes, I think it will do.”

“Excellent. Shall we think of more?”

Her smile was so natural, unforced. Different from the strained laughter and desperate witticisms Guy was used to from women who wished to seduce him.

“I truly should return to Sonia.” Gemma sounded regretful—at least Guy told himself she did. “Aunt Margot is an excellent guard dog, but Sonia likes me to be near. I thank you for your kind intervention.”

She turned for the door—with reluctance? Or was that Guy’s hopes once again?

“Wait.”

The word burst from him, and Gemma turned back, brows rising.

“I mean, I should go down first,” Guy explained hastily. “Make certain Wakefield is truly gone.”

---