Page 1 of Betting on a Baron
CHAPTERONE
The titters and giggles from the other side of the thin curtain made Ambrose Kirkman, Baron Harlowe’s head ache. His jaw clenched tight. If he could escape to his club he would. But it was time—time for him to marry and sire an heir after having accomplished his duty to replenish the family coffers that his papa had left empty. Ambrose resisted the temptation to peek beyond the flimsy partition between him and the women crowding the popular modiste’s shop to see if his sister had yet arrived. He wanted to be done with the task of spreading the false rumor that he’d repeated his papa’s mistakes and lost the family fortune once again. It was a plan born out of necessity to avoid the latest slew of ladies, debutantes, and misses that were on the hunt for a wealthy husband. After all, he was too old for a debutante right out of the school room, and he’d yet to meet an eligible lady who cared to discover more about him than his title and his current net worth.
A light tap on his shoulder had him whirling around. Fists balled and half raised, he came face to face with his sister. Alice had a terrible habit of sneaking up upon people in complete silence.
Brow furrowed, Alice asked, “Are you certain you wish to proceed with this farce?”
Reining in his terror at nearly having swung at his own sister, Ambrose relaxed his fists at his side. “Don’t you wish for a reprieve from Mama’s hounding?”
Alice had already endured eight seasons of being carted from one affair to the next night after night, when he knew full well that Alice would prefer to remain at home and sketch into the wee hours. He envied his sister’s keen ability to draw and her skill in interweaving lines until they formed an intricate pattern both pleasing to the eye and fodder for the mind. He also was jealous of Alice’s ability to outsmart their mama’s schemes to see her married off to some gentleman deemed the catch of the season, year after year, with ease.
He searched Alice’s fearless features for a moment and then looked about for his sister’s best friend and constant shadow, who also happened to be the only person who could keep Alice out of the scandal pages. “Where is Lady Daphne?”
Alice pointed her thumb to the curtain. “On the other side.”
This time he couldn’t stop himself from peering through the miniscule gap between the wooden frame and the curtain. Egad. The shop floor was overrun with seamstresses, matrons, and tiresome young ladies. His shoulder muscles relaxed at the sight of Daphne draped in her favorite deep forest green cloak. She was standing next to the esteemed and rather mysterious Lady Archbroke, who was flipping through the fashion plates. With Daphne and Lady Archbroke present to shield Alice, his resolve to move forward with his scheme doubled. His gaze fell upon Daphne, who was staring down at the pages, but he could tell her mind was elsewhere. Ambrose took a step back away from the curtain and kneaded the back of his neck. Would Daphne think any less of him if she believed the rumor? For years, he’d tried to be a man both she and Alice could depend upon. He was acutely aware that his papa’s failures were the source of Alice’s innate distrust of men. Ambrose swore the day he inherited the title of Baron Harlowe to be the best guardian and brother to Alice, never wanting to see his sister disappointed again after all their papa’s promises he’d never intended to keep.
He turned back around and found Alice, hands clasped behind her back, patiently waiting for him to return his attention to her. She stepped forward and frowned up at him. “Having second thoughts?”
Lying to Alice would be a breach of his promise. “Do you think Lady Daphne will believe I’ve failed?”
Considering the fact he kept his efforts a secret, no one other than his fellow members at his club, Masters, would really understand the constant fear he lived with. The terror of the possibility he might repeat his papa’s mistakes and lose the Harlowe fortune he’d amassed, which was worth three times what it had been when Ambrose inherited.
Alice rocked forward on to her toes and then back onto her heels. “I seriously doubt anything could sway Daphne’s opinion of you.”
What was he to Daphne? Was he an older brother to her? Merely a friend? He wanted to be neither of those. Ambrose pounded his fist against his chest to dislodge an uncomfortable lump that had formed.
“Will you help me or not?” he asked Alice.
“I’ll play along for now.” Alice crossed her arms over her chest. “However, I want it known that I believe this to be the most ridiculous idea you have ever conceived. Pretending to be penniless will not endear you to any of the papas whose permission you will have to seek to marry the girl who foolishly falls for a pretend-destitute baron.”
“When you say it like that it does sound rather absurd; however, I want to marry a lady who is interested in me and not whether our coffers are overflowing.”
“Very well… I’ll cross my fingers we shall not have to pretend to be poor for long.”
His sister motioned for Miss Maude Lennox and the dressmaker to join them. “Do you remember what you are to say?”
Miss Lennox nodded then said, “Yer both twits.”
“Not me … just him.” Alice gave him a wink. Despite the six-year age gap, he and his sister were each other’s stoutest supporters. If he must marry, which he was duty bound to do at some point, he wanted it to be with a woman who cared for him, not merely to gain a title or wealth. About to turn one-and-thirty, and with the Harlowe coffers full, he had no reason to delay finding a suitable baroness this season.
The shop keeper smirked and then stepped up close to the curtain and raised her voice so that all and sundry on the other side would hear her. “Baron Harlowe, until you can settle your accounts, I’m afraid your sister’s gowns shall not be completed and I’m in no position to take any further orders.”
Alice huffed loudly and then with another wink said, “Ambrose…brother! Please…I must have the lace added to my gown.”
Miss Lennox rolled her eyes but went on, “French lace is not cheap, my lady.”
“I shall…” Ambrose coughed and then cleared his throat, “I shall provide you with an IOU.”
While it pained him to utter the words, the gasps from the other side meant his plan was working.
“Not good enough, my lord. I already have a stack of those worthless things from last season. No more promises… post the coal, my lord, or your sister’s dress will be redesigned and sold to another.”
Scowling at Miss Lennox, who was not sticking to the script they had agreed upon, Ambrose recited his next lines. “Sister mine, what if we settle upon a gown without the Chantilly lace?”
Alice gave him her sweetest sisterly smile and said, “Absolutely not. I’d rather go naked than wear a drab gown without Chantilly lace.”
Naked? That wasn’t part of the script either. Damn all women and their flair for dramatics. Alice’s eyes sparkled, extinguishing Ambrose’s ire. His sister rarely gave herself permission to have fun. Her natural tendency was to calculate the worst possible outcome rather than enjoy the moment. But if he didn’t rein in the situation, the rumor of his dire financial situation would be pitted with holes and he would be exposed.
